Worth the Wait
by Aachren
Summary: Merlin waits for the plane bringing Arthur home. Reincarnation!fic. Genderbent!Merlin.


You sit on the wide, wooden benches in the hangar. It's loud, too loud, really. But what else is to be expected of a cavernous space filled with anxious waiting people from a few months old to feeble with age? You hear fractious children, awake long after their bedtimes, whine and cry. Your own children, mostly grown, roll their eyes in frustration at the sounds and grumble low about leaving little ones at home. Telling them that they had behaved the same on similar days, nights, whatever time this is, would be of no use, so you limit yourself to smiling indulgently at them.

Your oldest girl catches that look, frowns with suspicion and says, "I'm glad that you bought that sweater. Daddy will love how blue it makes your eyes."

Smiling into those eyes that are so like his, you nod. "He has always liked to see me in this shade of red. I wore just this color for our engagement photos."

She gives you the same indulgent look you had given her just a moment before, but hers clearly says how often she has heard that story. Her brother thumps down on the bench beside you after brushing past their younger sister and horns into the conversation. He wants to know how much longer you think it'll be before the wait is over. A skirmish breaks out. His older sister reminds him that the Army gods must be appeased and the men will walk in when it is done and not a moment before. Hurry up and wait!

The youngest girl, your peacemaker and the carrier of that silly, braying laugh of his, interrupts and diffuses the tension. They follow her lead and merrily discuss the idea that only the Army would find it necessary to declare the inside, outside. Your boy does grouse a bit about it, disgusted with Rear D. He finds their uniforms appalling. He, this boy with your eyes and your father's face, hears the same call of drum and duty that his father does. The thought hurts, but your heart clenches with pride that he'll be following in his father's footsteps in a few too short months.

Their talk quickly settles in storytelling. Each child is trying to outdo the others. You hear how they mark time with deployments. "Remember when Daddy was in the Gulf War?" "No, he was in a school, you know, the one at Benning." "Ahaha, wasn't that the year that Dad was in Afghanistan?" "What are you talking about? He was in Germany!" To think about it makes you dizzy, so you immerse yourself back into duty.

The scared young woman next to you, clutching an infant who has never seen his father, needs you. This has been their first deployment. It has been a shock and her nerves are jangled at the impending return of the man she married, but is unsure if she still knows. Easing her distress and reaching out to the spouses of soldiers during these separations has always helped. It is more than a distraction from loneliness; you know that what you do is a help to him. He leads, shepherds those young men into danger so far from home. You watch over their young brides as they navigate empty beds, families back home that don't understand their new lives, raising their children alone and managing their fear for their beloveds. Helping those poor kids means soldiers sleep well and that ultimately keeps everyone more alert and safe. Keeps him safe.

You tell those girls that the first couple weeks after they leave and the first couple of weeks before they get back are the hardest. The middle is the blessed numbness of routine. They always want to know if the separations get easier. You want to say yes, but you know better. So you offer the cold comfort of, "You'll get better at them."

He writes the tenderest e-mails and letters when he's gone. You save them all in a box hidden in the underwear drawer, top right. A couple of years ago, one said that he didn't know why the poets described lovesickness when your love made him feel more powerful, more capable than anything else he had ever experienced. He came home to that one pinned to the fridge. His children teased him while he fussed gently at you, embarrassed. You kissed him to a chorus of eww's from your kids, but you make no apology; it was too loving a thing he said to be keep secret.

The hangar buzzes with excitement; the plane has been sighted. The sound of it landing on the tarmac is accompanied by an increased level of noise inside. Everyone is restless and the band warms up their instruments. You can hear your own kids talking louder. They're careful to not mention the plane as they know the drill. The plane will land and no one will walk in the door for at least a half an hour. Knowing he is so near is the worst part of every deployment.

Your head snaps up at the sound of the door rolling up. Dimly, you hear someone declare that, according to military policy, the indoors is the outdoors and everyone in uniform will cover their heads. The band starts to play 'The Army Goes Rolling Along.' Your oldest daughter's hand slides into yours as her sister's arm wraps around your waist. Knuckles brush against your cheek and you look over to see that sweet boy of yours draped across his sister's shoulders with his hand resting on yours. The soft alto at your right ear sings the words to the men marching wearily through the door, but too quietly for them to hear. Your eyes blur with tears.

You swallow until your eyes clear. You see him. Even from here, you can see the lines of exhaustion etched on his grave face as he listens to the welcome home given by a colonel you didn't hear the name of, but probably should know anyway. The children disentangle from you when the anthem plays and you all place your hands over your hearts. You know you're supposed to look at the national standard, but your eyes remain fixed on the point of your allegiance, the man who is the reason for your existence.

It's all over, you can now hold him. You don't smile until you lay hands on him. His arms are warm and strong as they wrap around you. You are now home. He whispers your name and all the names he's ever called you through all the different ages echo softly. You ache for some of those days; he didn't leave you behind then. He smells awful, of dirt, weariness and that weird scent of Army, but you dig your nose deeper into his shoulder, take a shuddery breath and run your hands over as much of him as you can reach. Your trembling fingers are searching for the thin spots in the enchantment that you laid on him as he left. Every cracked, threadbare place makes you want to sob in relief that he made it back. He is so reckless.

You know better than to say anything to him for this carelessness with his life. You know he'll just tell you that he has to get as many of his boys home in one piece as possible and that he never takes unnecessary risks. He has a different idea of unnecessary risks than you. This difference of opinion is why this deployment has been particularly hard. He was supposed to have come home for his mid-tour R&R, but he called just days before to tell you that he wasn't coming home.

One of his soldiers needed to go to a deathbed and he would have that soldier in his seat on the plane. Never before have you been glad his call came through to you on one of those horrid satellite phones rather than a regular line. Those stupid gaps and awkward pauses between his words and yours as they bounce between satellites and handsets let you swallow your anger and fear to tell him what he wanted and needed to hear. He is a good soldier and NCO, who is lucky enough to have someone who understands back home. You didn't say anything about how hard it was on you and the kids; you didn't tell him that the enchantments should really be redone to save your sanity; you didn't bring up that a full year without him is just too much. You just smiled at him through that phone, told him you loved him and cried yourself to sleep that night.

The arms around you soften slightly as his children clamor for his attention. You ease back as those almost grown-ups mimic their younger selves to push forward to touch their daddy first. They all hug him, but none of them fully let go. All the things that had made him a good king were the very same that made him the very best of fathers. He listens to each in their turn. He has a teasing comment for the oldest about her new boyfriend; he wants to meet the young man and she, blushing, wants to put it off. Her brother ruffles embarrassedly under his father's proud, encouraging gaze as they talk about the day he leaves for Basic. He clasps the youngest's tall frame to his chest and wants to know when the next soccer game is and if schools are scouting her yet. Those beloved faces are brighter with joy as each moment passes.

Watching them all together is so sweet. This is the peculiar consolation of staying home without him; this go around you can give him something you never could before. You rest your head on his shoulder and grin at the excited sounds of your children and your man.

You make a mental note to tell your kids that the way they'll know who their destined one is when they realize that all the bad days in life with someone will be a small price to pay for the small moments like this in their arms. They just need to find someone worth the wait.


End file.
